


The Bitter Watches Of The Night

by telperion_15



Category: Primeval
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Captivity, Chains, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-10
Updated: 2012-02-10
Packaged: 2017-10-30 22:08:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/336674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telperion_15/pseuds/telperion_15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lester has no hope left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bitter Watches Of The Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fredbassett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/gifts).



> Originally written as a birthday fic for fredbassett.

By day he stood, still and straight and silent, a witness to a life that had once been his.

By night he crawled, broken and beaten down, his existence worse than a slave’s.

By day a suit covered his bruises, both physical and mental, and he wore it as the only shield he had.

By night he was naked, his hurts and shames exposed for all the world to see.

Except there was no one left to look.

*   *   *   *   *

As prisons went, it could have been worse, he supposed. The cell was clean and warm, and came with all the amenities one could wish for – in this case a bed, a toilet, and three square meals a day. It was all quite civilised, really.

He might have wished for different visitors, however. Oliver Leek wasn’t the person he would have chosen to spend the majority of his time with. But most prisoners had to undergo some form of torture, and Leek appeared to be his.

He spent most of each day in his company, watching as the little man with ideas above his station slowly but surely destroyed everything he had worked for, everything he held dear. That was a torture in itself – Leek clearly couldn’t resist the temptation to demonstrate just how completely he had won, just how absolutely he had taken his life from him.

But he could stand that. By building a wall around himself he could cut himself off from the despair and suffering, both his own and others’.

However, there were no walls that could withstand what happened during the hours of darkness. Leek didn’t come every night – undoubtedly he had other perverse pursuits with which to fill his time. But none of them seemed to give him as much pleasure as his ‘pet’. And therefore he knew that, no matter if a day or a week passed, Leek would always return to him eventually.

Tonight was one of those nights. He was always forewarned, so he could get himself ready. Leek liked things just so, and tended to react badly if they weren’t to his complete satisfaction.

Thus when Oliver arrived he found his captive kneeling submissively, naked and chained as he wished.

“Good evening, James.”

“Good evening.”

The courtesies were pure farce, yet Leek insisted on them, as if manners could make up for his other behaviours.

“Are you well this evening?”

He was tempted to respond with a _what do you think?_ , as he was every other night. But he knew that would only earn him another bruise to add to his already extensive collection, so he bit his tongue.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

They were alone in the cell – for all his faults, at least Leek didn’t require an audience for his perversions. But that was another temptation. To leap forward and fasten his hands round that scrawny neck, to squeeze until…

But he couldn’t, of course. The restraints on his wrists and ankles prevented any such attempt. And besides, even if he could, where would it get him? He would still be alone and trapped. And worse, he would be a killer.

Once, he’d had hope. Optimism. The naivety to assume that things couldn’t remain this way forever. Someone would put a stop to it. Someone would come and put Leek where he belonged. Then the little man would occupy a cell, not him.

But as time passed, and nothing changed, hope withered, and all he had left was hatred. Pure, impotent hatred. He tried to make it enough. He tried to make it sustain him. But it wasn’t. And it couldn’t.

“Stand up.”

Ah, so the pleasantries were over. It was almost a relief. The quicker this was over with, the quicker Leek would leave.

But when he didn’t rise fast enough, Leek grabbed the chain between his wrists, wrenching it so the metal dug painfully into his skin, using it like a lead to pull him across the room, and then looping it over a hook set high in the wall – so high that he felt his arms stretch uncomfortably, his face and torso pressed against the chill concrete.

Then a pause. A moment of wondering. Anticipating – dreading – what would happen next.

Fingers traced their way down his spine. He tried not to twitch away from the contact, although the hand was cold and clammy, like a dead thing where it touched his skin. Resistance would gain him nothing. Or perhaps less than nothing.

“Are you ready for me, James?”

There was no preparation, no gentleness, just questing fingers burrowing into him, spreading him wide.

He wished he could leave. Go somewhere not here.  Just be…not present.

But no matter how hard he tried to divorce himself, he couldn’t. He felt every act, witnessed every moment.

The first brutal push confirmed his acquaintance with the wall. He felt blood trickling down his cheek, and knew there would be evidence tomorrow. Oliver wouldn’t like that.

But that was nothing. He hardly felt it. He was invaded. Breached. And there was no getting used to it. No numbing of the pain. No way to ride it out.

And yet, despite the violation, despite the hands gripping his ribcage hard enough to strangle breath and endanger fragile bones, despite the obscene grunts in his ear, despite it all, he could feel his traitorous body responding, his cock hardening and swelling to rub against the roughened wall, his nerve endings tingling with more than just pain.

Every time, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. It made his humiliation complete, his capitulation total.

And then all of a sudden it was over. His body was vacated, his arms unhooked, shoulders groaning in protest as they were lowered.

“Down.”

He knew exactly what the instruction required, and he knelt – battered, abused…and aroused.

It _wasn’t_ over. Leek was still hard, his cock – skinny like the rest of him, so why did it feel like it was splitting him apart? – still demanding attention. Would he required to take it between his lips, to let Leek fuck his mouth until he gagged? Maybe this should be the night the pet bit back…

But no. He felt Leek’s speculative gaze sweep over him, lingering on his naked form, his cuts and bruises, his erect cock.

“Don’t you see, James, how much better it could be?” The voice was soft as a caress, slithering over his skin like silk. He repressed a shudder.

“It doesn’t have to be like this. You don’t have to fight me. You don’t _want_ to fight me.”

Silence. There might not be any hope left, but that didn’t mean he would give in. He would not be seduced.

A sigh – a regretful sound. “Have it your way, James.”

A few short strokes, an inarticulate cry, and _now_ it was over. The white fluid ran down his face, mixing with the blood there, turning pink as it dripped from his chin.

The cell door opened and closed.

He remained where he was.


End file.
